Three Kings
by Phx
Summary: Christmas Eve finds Dean and Sam sitting in the parking lot outside a small church. The odd thing was that Dean never planned on driving them there... ONESHOT


**Three Kings**

_Christmas Eve -_

Dean never intended to go there ever again. He knew it would never be the same and it was one ache he had no desire of amplifying. As long as he stayed away he could continue the delusion.

However the Impala seemed to have other ideas and it was a shocked young hunter that pulled into the empty parking lot of Saint Sebastian's parish church and parked. Beside him, his younger brother slumbered on unaware.

"Dean?" Sam's sleep filled voice sounded confused as he awoke, noticing the change in the powerful engine as it slipped from DRIVE to PARK. "Where – uh – where are we?" Blinking he shifted his long body into a more upright position and winced, reaching up to rub his neck.

The older man didn't say anything.

"Wait a sec," Sam started a moment later as he suddenly leaned forward in his seat to get a better view out the window. "What the -" He turned sharply towards Dean. "Father Jim's church?"

"Not technically," Dean's words were cardboard. "Not anymore anyways."

Father Jim was dead. The first victim of a possessed Meg when she had gone on her very personal to the Winchesters killing spree. First she took Jim, and then she took Caleb.

"W-why are we here?" the younger man stammered, sounding so young and unable to keep the tremor from his voice.

"I don't know," Dean admitted, finally taking his hands off the steering wheel and sitting back in the seat. The car still rumbled but they weren't going anywhere. "I was just driving – and then… I don't know. We were here."

"I can see that," Sam said stiffly.

The brothers sat in tense silence, neither really wanting to say anything. Around them a bitter cold shifted the snow, whirling the lighter, newly fallen flakes. December in the mid-west was cold on a good day – and this was not a good day.

The church was dark; a seemingly empty shell but they knew different. Although no one was there, the doors would still be open, the heat still on, crackers on the alter –

St. Sebastian's was never closed for business, not even now after the death of their beloved priest. Somehow, even as one of the upper echelon in the 'hunting' subculture, Jim still managed his duties as a spiritual leader for his flock. And now both felt his loss – the protectors and the protected.

It was a rare shared burden.

"Maybe we should go in," Sam finally spoke, his voice unnaturally loud in the heavy silence between them. He glanced almost nervously at Dean with maybe more uncertainty than worry. "I mean, seeing we're here and all."

Dean barely moved his head as he glanced at his younger brother. For a moment hazel eyes captured hazel eyes and Sam looked away first. Slowly the older hunter turned his gaze back out the window. The muscle in his jaw twitched and with a barely perceptible nod of his head he answered quietly, "Yeah. I suppose." But still neither young man moved; anguish anchored them.

_Run away. Run away_… the bitter wind seemed to shriek… _denial. Denial. _

"I miss him," Sam said out of the blue. "I still can't believe he's gone… that they're all gone." He didn't dare look at his brother and they were both thankful for that.

The older man swallowed hard and nodded. He had no words.

A shadow moved from around the side of the church and the brothers tracked its movement to the front door and then inside.

'Odd,' was unvoiced but shared. And as if one, Dean and Sam undid their seatbelts and slipped out of the car – a man in need would be welcomed in the empty church but if that man intended to defile the building, the brothers would not stand for it.

Grief and hesitation pushed aside, the hunters silently crossed the distance and were inside the heavy oak door as true sons of John Winchester; moving so quietly that they might have never been there.

The shadow was equally quiet and quick, already having made the sacred alter in the few strides it took the brothers to catch up. Hunched down in prayer, they watched from the back, suddenly uncomfortable as they heard the whispered words 'Dear sweet Lord -'

Sam glanced at Dean but Dean was too focused on the kneeling man to return the favor. There was something about the man –

And then the stranger spoke and the boys sighed in relief.

"I thought I saw your car outside…"

It was Joshua White. A man as close to an uncle as either boy knew.

The big man stood and turned to face the younger men. His dark face aged and weary; wordlessly he moved towards them.

Dean felt soul weary as he watched his brother meet the older hunter; the younger was quickly engulfed in a bear hug. Sadness tugged at his heart as he watched Joshua give so freely to Sam what Dean himself could not… Comfort.

Feeling like an intruder, he turned to leave but Joshua reached out – his arms long and muscular – and snagged Dean's coat. With a firm tug he pulled the young man in and wrapped a burly arm around his shoulder, his focus shifted to the older brother now.

"Oh Dean," he whispered, his deep voice oddly choked and raspy. "Oh Dean…"

"Joshua," Dean breathed out pass a tongue suddenly too thick for words and allowed the big man to hug him briefly; he awkwardly patted Joshua's back for a moment and then pulled away.

Joshua let him go.

Dean refused to look at Sam. He was afraid of seeing any emotion on his younger brother's face knowing that right now, and right here, that that would be the proverbial straw that broke the camels back.

Curiously enough, Sam seemed to feel the same way studying anything but his brother.

Joshua drew both their attention. "I wasn't expecting to be here." He glanced around the darkened building, the only light coming from candles placed high and out of reach at intervals along the walls. "Damn truck."

"Yeah. Us either." Dean admitted, clearing his throat. "Damn car."

"Uh," Sam glanced between them, his expressive eyes bright and wary, "language? We _are_ in a church."

The older hunters looked at him for a moment and then both burst out laughing. Sam didn't seem to get it and took a step back from both men, looking at them like they were nuts.

Joshua grinned, a smile white and wide, "Now Samuel, you know as well as I do that 'damn' and 'shit' are perfectly acceptable in the _Jim Murphy handbook of profanity_."

"Is there really such a thing?" Dean couldn't help but ask, ignoring the aghast look on his brother's face.

"Nah," the big man admitted, "but, oh Lord, if only there was…" his booming voice trailed off and for a long moment neither man said anything.

Sam broke the silence when he sat down heavily in a cold pew and sighed, "This isn't right. They should be here. Father Jim… Caleb… Dad. All of them. I just-" his words faltered. "It just isn't right."

Dean felt the air leave the room and fought a strong urge to run.

"Sammy -" Joshua's deep baritone voice attempted to comfort but the younger man shook his head.

"No, Joshua," he denied, "it isn't and I don't understand any of it. What is so…" he paused. "So damn important that it's worth so many lives? Where does it stop? Why does it keep coming? Can't it take what it really wants and leave everyone else the _fuck_ alone!?"

Dean almost got whiplash spinning around to see his brother. Sure Sam cursed – profanity was an art form amongst hunters – but to hear him so vehement? _And in a church?_ Things weren't good.

Joshua seemed just as stunned as for one moment he just gawked at Sam and then he glanced at Dean before easing himself down to sit in the pew.

"Life isn't fair, Sammy boy."

"Bullshit," Sam countered. Dean felt like he should say something but decided to wait to see how Joshua fared. In all honesty, he wasn't exactly sure what to say – there was some truth in what his brother said. _Why didn't the demon just take what it wanted? Why this game of cat and mouse?_

But then there was the equally simple reality that it was Sam the demon was after. And for it to just take him was unacceptable to Dean. He would fight to the death for his brother and he knew the others who had died had felt the same.

"Sam," the big man plowed on. "I know you're hurting. We're all hurting here – this was a big loss. Jim, Caleb… your Dad, pretty much all in one go… but we don't have many choices here, kid. Either we lie down and die, or we continue to fight and make that evil sonnovabitch pay for every last thing it took away from us. And that is what I intend to do. Fight. To the bitter end… And if it takes my dying breath to keep that _thing_ from getting what it wants, then so be it… Show me my sword and I'll fall on it. Right here. Right now." He was breathing hard by the time he was finished.

Sam just stared at Joshua, seeming at a loss of what to say. Dean relished the moment. He knew it was petty and really couldn't help it, but in spite of everything else that was totally screwed up, he was still Sam's big brother. And Sam's big brother cherished moments when Sam was speechless. Dean, however, knew exactly what he wanted to say…

"We can't fix things," his words were soft but perpetual in the house of worship, "but we can sure as hell set them right." He paused and waited until Sam was looking at him. "Dad gave us a job to do, Sammy, and best I can tell, we ain't near finished yet… And I don't really care about the what or whys of all this. All I care about is that it chose the wrong family to mess with." His jaw jutted out. "Mine."

"And mine," Joshua added, rising to stand beside Dean.

Sam waited a heartbeat and then also rose. His voice was soft but strong. "And mine…"

"They may have taken three of our kings," Joshua growled, fire reignited in his weary face. "But we'll take the whole damn kingdom from them."

"Amen, brother," Dean couldn't help but add. He looked at Sam and his brother nodded.

"Amen."

…

Joshua clasped each young man on the shoulder and started to lead then out of the church. They would stay in the same motel tonight and come tomorrow, get piss loaded drunk over half cooked turkey and stone cold whiskey as they celebrated Christmas the good old fashioned 'hunting' way…

But neither were alone. And in the end, that was all that really mattered.

…

From the shadows a tall man watched the three men leave the church. His heart filled with pride and he wished he could have spoken to them but now was not the time…

For now it was safer if they believed the things they did and while his heart ached for his grieving 'family', he knew this was the best way.

They needed to believe he was dead – for all their sakes.

He waited until he heard the throaty rumble of the Chevy following the larger SUV out of the parking lot and only then did Father Jim Murphy leave the church.

"Merry Christmas, boys," he whispered to the departing tail lights and then disappeared into the dark night…

**The End**


End file.
